Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel The White Guard is set in Ukraine amid the civil war that followed the Russian Revolution. It tracks members of the Turbin family as they navigate the conflict’s chaos.

Bulgakov adapted his book into a play — much admired by Stalin, and presented here in a new version by Andrew Upton — which portrays a society on the brink of collapse but still alive with music, conversation and amorous entanglements.

The action occupies the period either side of Christmas 1918. Alexei and Nikolai Turbin are members of the White Guard who support the deposed Tsar. Their sister, Lena, is married to the deputy minister for war; early on he heads to Berlin. The trio’s bourgeois existence is threatened by the Red Army and by Ukrainian nationalists.

We see the lives of these siblings and their friends turned upside-down. The turmoil is punctuated with earnest contemplation and elements of farce — especially when the vodka flows or when different languages collide.

In Howard Davies’s deftly directed production, eloquent details combine with large statements to evoke the confusion, energy, pain and charm of this world. Bunny Christie has created a succession of opulent sets and there’s particularly atmospheric sound by Christopher Shutt.

The ensemble work is excellent. Performances of note come from Justine Mitchell, radiant as Lena, and Pip Carter, who brings a touching awkwardness to Larion, a poetic youth with a gift for bad timing.

However, Upton’s reworking of Bulgakov misses some of the subtle gradations of post-Revolutionary society. While often sharp, the writing has longueurs, and the shifts of tone are occasionally uncomfortable. Some sequences could be out of Chekhov, while other humorous sections seem too broad. One scene, involving the puppet leader installed by the Germans (Anthony Calf, fast-talking and severe) and his aide-de-camp (an enjoyable yet miscast Conleth Hill), is reminiscent of Monty Python.

Visually and technically this is a remarkable production. However, it’s rather confusing, and the storytelling fails to resonate. The play’s historical and political burden is substantial but it isn’t genuinely engaging. Until 15 June. Information: 020 7452 3000.